Chloe's Contract

by David James

  ‘And I’m the opposite, I suppose. I have to creep round doing exactly what I’m told all the time. I have quite a responsible job but if I get something wrong...’ Diane trailed off as she remembered a recent encounter with Martha, when she made a booking for a flight on the wrong day. Martha had been furious and Diane received a verbal warning. What made it worse was that it wasn’t entirely Diane’s fault. If Martha had not changed her mind six times before the final decision was made the mix up would not have occurred, but Martha was not the sort of boss to be told she should have been clearer with her instructions.

  Diane relieved her own frustration by attending Mistress’s clinic and enjoying humiliating and causing pain to and for those slaves currently in residence. She had enjoyed Audrey, but was particularly fond of Sophie, perhaps because she was female and her boss was too. She had reflected whether, had she had a domineering male employer, she might have favoured Audrey and enjoyed humiliating him and causing pain to his balls and nipples and forcing a strap-on into the dark depths of his anal passage.

  She brought herself back to the pleasures to come that afternoon. To begin with, when Mistress had got to know her and indicated that Martha was also a client, she just saw becoming Martha’s Mistress, if only temporarily, as an opportunity for getting her own back, but as the strategy developed she began to plan a scenario that would prove pleasurable for both of them, as well as giving her the chance to really fulfil her desire to take someone and totally dominate them. Mistress had explained previously that sublimation and dominance were not separate streets but parallel - like a dual carriageway - and were all the more enjoyable for that.

  ‘Have you everything you need?’ Mistress asked. ‘I have plenty of choice if you want to borrow something.’

  ‘I think so.’ Diane began to undress, and Mistress admired her long legs as she slipped her slacks down her thighs. They were set off perfectly by the dark hold-ups and the high heels. Mistress held her breath as Diane drew the fine wool sweater up over her head, raising her arms and showing off her fabulous breasts. She was as appreciative of women as she was of men, and those wonderfully succulent globes, straining against the fine fabric of her bra never failed to excite her. Diane removed the film of silk. She hardly needed support, but as her breasts swung free the contours subtly changed and she was aware of their heaviness as they settled into their natural shape. She desperately wanted to take those sweet nipples into her mouth. She slipped off her robe, revealing her own exquisite body, and began to select and put on her outfit. She felt her sex become slick as she dressed and mentally put the finishing touches to her plans, but was set off on another tack as Diane took off her panties exposing her shaved sex mound, as she sat on the bed, took off her shoes and rolled down her hold-ups.

  ‘I’ve bought a new basque, Mistress,’ Diane said. ‘I hope you like it.’ Naked, she stood again and bent over, showing the superb curve of her bottom and the full pout of her outer lips, and opened her small suitcase. She drew out a beautifully shaped, purple velvet basque with leather panels. She drew it on. The lacing intricately zigzagged up the front and she drew the laces tight. The cups were cut away, exposing the upper slopes of her breasts and her nipples, while eight suspenders with gold stocking clips hung from the velvet edging that framed her sex and skimmed the swell of her bottom. The matching thong fitted her like a glove, and when she drew on her dark stockings and stood up after putting on her five-inch heeled shoes she looked magnificent. She shook her hair free from the chignon into which it had been so carefully arranged, and the auburn tresses tumbled down around her shoulders.

  ‘Just the gloves and mask now,’ she smiled. She was clearly gaining confidence as she dressed, and Mistress was genuinely proud of her.

  ‘You really look the part,’ she said as Diane drew on elbow length leather gloves and picked up a facemask.

  ‘I don’t like that,’ Mistress said immediately. ‘It’s more suitable for a sub, and you would have to tuck in your hair.’

  ‘I’ll have to put my hair up anyway,’ said Diane. ‘I’m sure Martha will suspect it’s me otherwise, as I usually wear it down at work.’

  ‘Hmm, yes, I take your point. But hair is important. It is evidence of power and femininity - essential for a Mistress. Wait a moment; you’d better put your hair up again.’

  Diane expertly wrapped her curls up onto the top of her head. It added to her height, she realised as she admired her reflection in a full-length mirror, and felt seriously in control and determined.

  Mistress returned with a black leather mask, onto which was fitted a magnificent wig; a mane of dark brown hair that would tumble almost to her waist when she put it on. She helped her to fit it in just the right position, so that the mask covered her eyes and nose but left her mouth and chin free. It fitted snugly and another glance in the mirror assured Diane that she was virtually unrecognisable; especially as Martha would be spending most of the time on the floor, facing away from her with her head bowed!

  The doorbell rang and they heard Sophie clicking along the corridor to open it. There were a few murmured words and they heard Martha being shown straight into the training room. A door closed, and a few moments later Sophie knocked, and after Mistress’s stern, ‘Enter,’ she opened it and came in.

  Her jaw immediately dropped as she took in Diane’s magnificent appearance. ‘Oh my, Diane, you look fantastic!’ she enthused, making no effort to conceal her admiration. Already wet with the anticipation of the coming events and the torment and suffering she longed for, she felt her sex moisten as she took in the magnificence of the two Mistresses, half turned towards her, displaying the sensuous curves of their calves, thighs, and breasts, all framed by the extraordinary and sensual underwear that clung to their fabulous figures.

  ‘Sophie, behave yourself; have you forgotten your place?’ her Mistress asked, and Sophie instinctively dropped to her knees and bowed her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mistress,’ she apologised.

  ‘I should hope so. Perhaps you’ve been allowed too much rope of late... of the wrong kind.’ She winked at Diane. ‘We may have to teach you a lesson. Remember only to speak when you’re spoken to.’

  Yes, Mistress. I am so sorry.’

  ‘You certainly will be if this afternoon’s session does not go exactly according to plan. Now return to Martha and make sure she’s prepared. I’ve a good mind to thrash you right now, but we need to get on.’

  Sophie wondered whether her Mistress was jealous of her reaction to Diane’s dazzling beauty, but on reflection she thought it was unlikely. Her Mistress had always had plenty of self-confidence, and she was herself a stunning woman. But on the other hand there may have been a stab of envy. Diane was probably ten years younger and was extremely beautiful, even without the trappings of dominance. She was sincerely sorry if she had caused her Mistress upset; she genuinely loved her and now wished she had been punished. She felt she deserved it. She would make up for it by playing her role to perfection.

  ‘Don’t forget to put on your party dress.’

  ‘No, Mistress.’ Sophie went to her bedroom and took off her top, French knickers, stockings and shoes, and picked up the pretty panties Mistress had selected for her. She drew on a pair of fine white stockings and used a pair of pretty pink garters to hold them up. She then put on white, low-heeled shoes with button straps, and a 1920s ‘junior’ corselet that when laced, crushed her breasts uncomfortably flat. She then slipped on a pretty dark-blue, satin, full-skirted calf-length dress, with layers of petticoats and a tight, high-necked bodice with sleeves that covered her arms from shoulder to wrist. She looked just as if she was going out to a fifties dance.

  Returning to the training room she found Martha as she had left her, standing with her head bowed awaiting Mistress to discipline her. She was of medium height with classic features framed by carefully highlighted deep-blonde curls that gave an appealing impressio
n of warmth and charm. She was exquisitely dressed in an obviously expensive business jacket and matching straight skirt, lovely and deceptively simple jewellery, dark stockings and medium heels. She epitomised the successful businesswoman, and a closer look revealed the determined set of the mouth and blue eyes that were astute, sharp and shrewd. She looked up as Sophie entered.

  ‘What a pretty dress - and how unusual for you,’ said Martha.

  ‘As I think you know, Martha, Mistress has a friend with her today,’ Sophie said. ‘And we’re to be treated as naughty sisters who need to be taught a lesson.’

  ‘What have we done?’ Martha asked, slipping straight into her role. She had been attending sessions with Mistress for several months and knew what was expected of her. She found the experience of humiliation amazingly gratifying and rewarding; a relief from the interminable pressures of decision making and the control she had to exercise in her daily life. She’d been married once, for a short time, but it had quickly fallen apart as she realised, instinctively at that time, although she began to understand it later, that Ralph, wealthy as he was and handsome and masculine as he appeared, had not married her to look after her but to be looked after. Underneath he was a wimp, and she soon realised that someone who wanted to be mothered was not a partner she wanted. The tensions of her working life led her to consult a behavioural psychiatrist, who quickly diagnosed that she needed total relief from the pressures of her everyday life, a life that often extended into the evening and over weekends. Initially he felt that a no strings sexual relationship would provide the necessary relief, but after a number of partners, including the psychiatrist, Martha began to realise that what she needed and what she was turning to was what she recognised as ‘rough trade’.

  She enjoyed sex, but real satisfaction came from fear of the unknown, sexually induced pain and rough, imperious handling in every aspect of the experience. She didn’t take long to discover that although she relished coarseness and torture, uncontrolled encounters could lead her into real peril.

  Had her experiences all been like one which occurred a year or too earlier during a late night encounter at a motorway service station, she would have continued to pursue them. She dressed deliberately provocatively for these adventures in short skirts that barely covered the lacy tops of her sheer stockings, enabling anyone glancing at her legs as she sat down a glimpse of her creamy thighs, and a low-cut slinky sweater that allowed her breasts to swell alluringly while leaving a gap below that showed off her bare midriff. Her leather jacket and high-heeled shoes completed an ensemble that was not only very sexy but, in the environment, was clearly an invitation to any man willing to take it up. She never lacked attention, and on this occasion a large, sandy-haired truck driver with the breadth of shoulders, slim waist and strong arms and legs she craved, almost immediately approached her and sat down. He was not bad-looking either, with a strong jaw, clear blue eyes and a mouth that smiled easily through full lips. His hands were not too large but rough from manual labour, and she immediately imagined them rasping across the silky skin of her breasts, her nipples snagging tantalisingly on the hard calluses of his palms.

  He grinned at her. ‘Anything I can do for you?’ he asked. ‘You look as if you’re after a good seeing-to, dressed like that.’

  She nodded. ‘Have you got somewhere suitable?’ she asked brazenly.

  It was his turn to nod. ‘Bunk in the back of the cab of my truck do you?’

  ‘Suits me,’ she said, her tummy flipping with nerves.

  He got up and waited while she struggled off the fixed bench, making no attempt to keep her skirt from riding up over her thighs. She had discovered that she preferred sex on these occasions to be sudden, sharp and hard, and she wanted to be sure that he was aching to get inside her as soon as they were in a position for him to do so. He looked down; admiring her shapely legs, the suspenders that drew black lines across the sensuous white expanse of soft skin between her stockings and the edge of the black thong that masked her secret slit, and wondered at his luck. This was not the first time he’d been so fortunate, but mostly they were teenagers looking for a lift and offering a fuck in exchange, their inexperience providing brief relief but no great pleasure. Then there were the middle-aged married women who had just discovered that their husbands were involved with someone else and wanted to either pay them back or find out what another man was like without playing too close to home. More pleasurable, certainly, but their mix of guilt and revenge did not appeal to him.

  This was the first time he’d come across a woman who appeared to know exactly what she wanted and was without hang-ups. And beneath the tarty garments she was genuinely very attractive. He felt his cock hardening as she parted her legs as she got up; just enough for him to see the narrow strip of fabric that covered his objective.

  He held out a hand to help her, and she gasped as her manicured fingers were caught in his grip. They left the restaurant area, passing the closed shopping booths and walked out into the night, across the huge car park to the lorry parking area. The monsters excited her; when their engines started and began their low throb she could feel an answering rhythm deep inside her.

  All had been quiet on that occasion, even the distant roar of the night motorway seemed muted in her ears as her mind thrilled at the prospect of the stranger fucking her. He climbed up to unlock and open the cabin door and then jumped down to help her up. She lifted her shoe onto the first step and felt his hands squeezing her bottom as he pushed her up. The fine silk of her thong snagged against his palms and slid across the rounded cheeks. She gasped in anticipation and drew herself up into the cab, the sharp stench of diesel assailing her nostrils.

  The cot at the back of the cabin was narrow, but she crawled into the space and quickly hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the thong and drew it down, allowing the silky curls covering her sex to spring free. She lifted her top and slipped off her bra in one movement, and by the time he was beside her she was naked except for her stockings, shoes and suspender belt. He grunted as he struggled to remove his tight jeans and unhook his pants from his rigid cock, which was threatening to burst as Martha lay back, thighs parted, clearly visible in the moonlight seeping into the cab.

  He rolled on top her without ceremony. It was exactly what she wanted; no foreplay, no murmured endearments, just strong, long hard sex, and at that stage of her desire, the rougher the better. He was not inexperienced but he was eager and the cabin was small. His cock gouged granite-like and unyielding against her clit as he rutted on top of her. His chest hairs rasped against her soft breasts, irritating her sensitive nipples. She wanted to feel him driving deep inside her, and the pounding against her clit was sending shafts of delightful pain through her body, connecting fully with the nerve endings in her nipples and the pleasure centres of her brain.

  Her body pulsed in time with his long strokes and she could feel her release building. She screamed as she came, just as she felt his hot thick spunk squirting against her womb, his cock awash with the cream that saturated her cunt. As he withdrew she reached down and held his balls firmly in her hand and drew him upright in the confined space of the cabin. She wanted to further sense what had happened, so she pulled his cock closer and as he crouched over her she bent her head forward and sucked it into her mouth, savouring the tartness of his salty sperm and her own sweet juices.

  It wasn’t long before he was hard again and he turned her over so he could penetrate her across the smooth plumpness of her buttocks. But almost before she realised his motives he’d penetrated deep inside her rear passage, and he quickly filled her with another dose of thick spunk, and as he shrunk and slid from her she reached back and held him as tightly as she could, enjoying the last drains of his sperm wetting her palm.

  She spent a further hour enjoying his strong body, but eventually exhausted she dropped down from the cab and returned to her BMW, home, and a relaxed night’s sleep.

/>   Had all her encounters been similar it is likely that she would never have presented herself at Mistresses door. As is was, an experience a few months before had driven her back to her psychiatrist who advised that she should seek a similar but safer level of submission by going to a professional. He suggested this course of action having heard what had occurred when Martha foolishly entered a dingy café in a nearby town late at night, dressed in her usual provocative style.

  Her fine bra and thin top emphasised her firm nipples, clearly discernible. Her previous adventures had involved only one partner, but on this occasion a group of four youngsters who had obviously had too much to drink, entered the café and demanded a takeaway. Having made his order the leader of the group turned and immediately detected that she was a woman looking for sex. But his and his friends’ concept of sex was, as quickly became apparent, significantly different from Martha’s.

  They surrounded her and began to make lewd comments about her outfit, backing up their suggestions with actions. Without caring one mauled her breasts, squeezing the nipples painfully between thumb and finger while another slid his hand up her skirt, prodding his fingers under her thong and pressing the coarse tips into her sex. She had no doubt that under some circumstances she would have enjoyed the roughness of their approach, but when she found herself manhandled from her seat and hustled out of the café into a side alley she began to get really frightened.

  Two of the quartet held her firmly and the leader unzipped his jeans, exposing a large cock that took her breath away. Afterwards she reflected that although its size was not frightening in itself, the total lack of control was terrifying.

  She was made to kneel on the litter-strewn ground and forced to swallow the whole length of his throbbing cock. He stood with his back to the wall and her head and shoulders were manoeuvred by the rest of the gang, his cock forcing its way down her throat.

  His inexperience let him down and he came quickly, his sperm erupting into her mouth and her throat convulsed as she was compelled to swallow, or choke. Then she was pushed down on her back amongst the rubbish, too weary to object, and fucked by each of the youths in turn. Their teenage aggression alarmed her as they pulled and groped and mauled, and she realised things could easily get way out of control, and lying alone in the filthy alley after they’d had their fun and discarded her like the litter all around, she realised things had to change, for her own safety’s sake.